Actions speak louder than words
by forever-a-loan
Summary: Ezio's life in Monteriggioni was disturbed by an injured stranger appearing out of nowhere.


It seemed like an ordinary morning in Monteriggioni. People were starting to fill the streets, merchants launched their stalls, men swept dust from the porches and women opened the blinds to fill the air with tasty smells of breakfast being served in their dining rooms. Ezio made his way down the street towards the town's gate, all the while observing the waking up of his settlement. He could boldly claim it as his, because if it weren't for him, Monteriggioni would still be in shambles. Through his own hard work, Ezio raised the town's economy, attracted traders and artisans, making this place bloom once more. The town was prosperous again and it was all thanks to Ezio's determination and effort.

Once he passed the merry town, he headed to the stables. Mounting one of his favorite horses, he set off for a daily inspection of nearby surroundings. As soon as he left the town's suburbs, grassy meadows and grape fields entered his sight. Big clouds were hanging in the sky, making dark patches on the land in contrast to sunny weather inside the city walls. The sound of clacking hooves on the paved road was carried by the wind coming from the top of the mountains. All seemed peaceful and quiet. Satisfied, Ezio finished his check and turned around to race back to the stables, ready to report to his uncle on the current situation of the neighborhood. While steering his horse to go home, his eyes caught a small dot in the distance. Furrowing his eyebrows, he rode towards the suspicious looking silhouette. As he was getting closer and closer, he identified the dot as a hunched man. He could see the man had a hard time walking, and he was clutching one of his sides very tightly.

"Who are you and what is your purpose on these lands?" Ezio recited the phrase he used to every passerby. His strict voice usually had an impact on poor wanderers and they answered any question Ezio had to ask. However, this time he heard no response from a hunched man. "Answer me, stranger." Nothing. What insolence! It seemed that the other one did not hear him; he did not even raise his head in acknowledgement. Climbing off the horse, Ezio approached the crouched man. He noticed the strange attire on this stranger. Dressed in white he looked like a priest. Approaching the man, he raised his hand to shake the man's shoulder, in order to make the other look at him and answer when he was asked. However, the priest was acting strange. He was shivering uncontrollably and his breathing sounded heavy and pained. Taking a better look he saw spots of blood seeping into the immaculate white of the priest's garments. "You should see a doctor." Ezio mouthed warningly, disturbed by seeing so much red spreading so fast. He could see the stranger trying to raise his head, but before he could do so, he collapsed. Thankfully, Ezio was quick to react and he managed to catch the priest before the said could break his skull into the pavement stones. With a sudden weight on his hands, Ezio stumbled a little, but quickly regained his poise. "Now you _really _should see a doctor." Dragging the unconscious man on the horse he sat behind him, trapping the body between his arms while holding the reins. Urging the horse to go as fast as it could, he bolted straight to the doctor's place.

"That's all I can do, be sure to follow my instructions for further treatment. I've written everything you need to know on this paper," the doctor handed a folded sheet, "if anything goes wrong, you know where to find me, Ezio." Doctor waved his goodbye and left the house. After bringing the stranger to Monteriggioni Ezio had to think of a place for him. Not all of the old houses were occupied so he entered the first vacant house and settled the man there. He didn't want to carry the man to the villa, because the other could be a spy and might also frighten both, his sister _and_ his mother.

Sighing he looked through the dusty window. It was still early in the morning and yet he had already burdened himself with an ill man. Ezio turned his head towards the bandaged person. Most of his clothes were laid on a chair nearby. There was a stained hooded tunic, empty short blade holder, sword, a couple of throwing knives and the leather belt with red sash under it. Those clothes bothered Ezio a lot. What kind of priest possesses such weapons? It would seem that he isn't priest after all. But putting clothing and weapons aside there was one more object that made Ezio uneasy.

The hidden blade.

Now that was a mystery. Where and how did he get such a thing? Maybe he was an assassin from some other region? There might be such a possibility. He made a mental note to inquire about the assassin's weapon once the suspicious man wakes up. Another question that popped into his head was how the man gained such wounds? If he was attacked on his way, it means that the enemy is close to detecting his hideout. But then again, why they attacked an ordinary man? Unless he displeased the authorities in some way. And now this wanted man was under his protection. He could attract some unnecessary attention. Ezio cursed. Not good. He will have to keep this as a secret, even from his own family. He had made a promise long ago to take care of his mother and sister. And it is better for them not to know anything that could compromise them. It is safer this way. Taking into consideration the man's condition, Ezio decided that he should be asleep for a greater part of a day. The doctor said a couple of his ribs were broken, so that should prevent the stranger from trying to escape or do something reckless. Quickly making up his mind, the assassin left.

The whole next day stranger laid motionless in bed. Sometimes he seemed dead-like, but Ezio made sure he was just in a deep sleep. Staying with an unconscious man seemed pointless, so the assassin decided to visit his patient later. Another morning came and Ezio was sitting in stranger's room for a good hour now, eager to interrogate him. Really, how tired one should be to sleep almost two days straight? Suddenly a soft grunt caught his attention. So the man was finally waking up, hm? Standing up he approached the bed. The man with his eyes still closed made some incomprehensible noises, which, Ezio assumed, was his way of asking for some water. After helping him to swallow few gulps of refreshing liquid he remained sitting near his bed, watching the stranger's face intensively, waiting. After scanning the man's features it was clear that he wasn't local. Few minutes passed, and the injured man managed to weakly open his eyes. Trying to break the ice, Ezio spoke "you received some serious wounds. The doctor said it is a miracle that you are still alive. However because of a few broken ribs you'll find it difficult to walk for a while. I suppose it takes more than that to kill you, hm?" He offered a friendly smile, in order to earn the other man's trust. Once he gets comfortable, the interrogation will commence. The injured man whispered something quietly in response. Ezio asked him to repeat himself, but the man just looked into his face, ignoring his words. Only when the confusion was visible on Ezio's face he repeated himself a little bit louder. Every word seemed alien to the assassin. He could understand that the man before him was talking sensibly, but what exactly, he did not know.

The apprehension dawned on him like a pile of bricks. "Great. Just wonderful. You cannot speak Italian?" Ezio was appalled, "Where are you from?" The man only turned to look at him with great difficulty, breathing calmly, looking sleepy and exhausted. Realizing how his questions seemed meaningless to the other one, he tried different technique. He pointed at the man, then made some walking movements with two of his fingers and then shrugged his shoulders in question. The man followed his actions and mumbled something in return, of course, in his own language. Sighing, Ezio tried once more. "You," he pointed once again, "come from" walking movements, "where?" he shrugged his shoulders one more time. Then he stared into the stranger, as if wishing to be able to communicate mind to mind. Staring contest was very intensive, both of them tried to understand what the other had said. "S-Syria," the injured man had finally given Ezio his answer. "Syria," Ezio echoed, „Syria? Why did you even go so far from your homeland? What brings you here?" The stern glance from the stranger quieted him down a little. Of course, it was the same as talking to a wall. Oh well. It seems that their communication will be very limited. He decided to drop the subject for now.

Remembering what the doctor had said he took the inscribed sheet of paper and scanned it quickly. "Okay, so it seems that I should give you this", he took a bottle with green liquid, "two times a day." He knew his words meant nothing to foreigner's ears, but it was still better than working in an awkward silence. Filling spoon with a mixture, he brought it to the Syrian's mouth. "Open up", he opened his own mouth to show an example, and the man obeyed the command dissatisfied, swallowing the bitter liquid down his throat. After that, he had said something in Arabic, which Ezio thought was a phrase of gratitude, and so he replied with "you're welcome".

Once Ezio had finished arranging vials and bottles he checked on his patient. Surprisingly, he was still not asleep. On the contrary, he seemed to be attentively following Ezio's every movement. His look was more than serious, watchful eyes registering every object in the room while still tracking Ezio. It was obvious that the man was growing suspicious. And why wouldn't he be? Some sort of stranger appeared out of nowhere, began treating his wounds, not to mention offered him a shelter and doctor's services. Of course he had every right to be suspicious, and with all the weaponry he had seen before, undoubtedly he also knows how to fight. The man could be dangerous, and Ezio should not let his guard down. Ugh, this language barrier annoyed him. How was he supposed to interrogate this man now, when it took so long just to discover his homeland? Not to mention ask him about his health or daily needs. Daily needs. With a sudden thought he mumbled "be right back" more out of habit, than necessity, and took off, leaving a puzzled Syrian in bed.

As soon as Ezio got back, he was greeted with a sight of a sleeping man. He looked peaceful and not as threatening as before. For the first time Ezio felt the urge to examine him without the other's notice. Sure he had stolen few glances when his patient was laying unconscious, but now, after hearing the man's voice and interacting a bit, he wanted to know this stranger better. The man's tanned skin proved his Syrian heritage and his face despite many cuts and bruises was surprisingly rather alluring. Thick eyelashes and hair also contributed to his meritorious appearance. He didn't say it out loud, but Ezio was feeling content to nurse such an attractive man. It was better than some old priest that he had mistaken him for when they first encountered two days ago. The stew he had brought was still steaming, so he put it on the table near the Syrian's bed. The smell of tasty food woke the man up. The soft moan voicing his regret about waking up made Ezio raise the corners of his lips. "Good you're awake. I _really _hope you'll be able to eat that stew by yourself." Wanting to make his words understood he handed the sleepy man a bowl and a spoon. Wordlessly, the Syrian took both items, and painfully sitting up began gobbling the steaming food. After fulfilling his hunger, he returned the empty bowl to Ezio, licking his lips, seemingly enjoying the aftertaste of his meal. Before Ezio could put the dish on the table nearby, the Syrian was already sound asleep. Shaking his head in disbelief, he left the room closing the door silently and carried on with his other duties around the town.

The next time Ezio came he encountered the man trying to climb off his bed. "What are you doing?" he couldn't help but yell at the imbecile before him. It didn't matter that the other failed to understand a word he was saying, the warning tone in his voice should get the point across. "Lay down, you stupid man" Even when Ezio tried to put him back to bed, the other refused, and his thrashing opened the healing wounds. Bandages were already dyeing red, "fuck," he cursed still fighting the other, "would you relax? Your wounds are opening again." He tried to clasp the Syrian's hands behind his back; however the other man was very strong. "Calm… the fuck… down!" In return he heard some sentences in Arabic, and to him they made no sense. Then again, his own words didn't affect the Syrian either. What a predicament he was in.

Finally he gave up. Letting go of the man, he backed up watching what the other would do. Surprisingly the bloodied man stood still, holding his side with one arm, probably trying to lessen the intensified pain in his ribs. "What's wrong now? I've let you go, haven't I?" The Syrian paid no mind to his words. Instead, he fidgeted with his free hand, and looked all around the room, then cast his eyes down. All that the assassin could hear was silent murmuring (probably complaining) and painful breathing escaping his lips. Ezio made a questioning gesture, trying to figure out the odd man's behavior. The foreign man was now hunched again, crossing his legs in a very obvious manner. "Oh," Ezio caught on, "ooooh…" Now it was his turn to be embarrassed. Really, how he hadn't figured that out? The man laid here for two days now, and still hadn't used the restroom. "Uhm," he cleared his throat, "come along" he beckoned the man to follow him and the Syrian limped after him. When the man wrapped his arm around Ezio's shoulder, the later couldn't help but flush a little. Solid and warm body against his own created strange sensations in his gut. As they reached the restroom the Italian quickly ushered the man inside and closed the doors. Although the man could find it difficult to carry out such simple task, Ezio was adamant not to interfere.

When the deed was done (and it took a lot of time), Ezio led his patient to the bed once more. Removing bloodied bandages he examined the raw wounds. Putting some antiseptic he began wrapping the new bandage around his ribs. Although he tried to be as gentle as it was possible, the Syrian still hissed from time to time. He tried to distract his thoughts from the man's naked torso and smooth skin beneath his fingers; yet still the sounds from the Syrian did nothing but inflate his corrupted mind. "There you go," he pulled away as fast as he could, gathering old bandages and putting them out of the way. It was dark outside, and Ezio knew he had to go back to the villa soon. Despite that, he wanted to try to pull another piece of information from this man. He waited some time for the man to recover from the previous treatment and calmed his own thoughts too. After what he thought was a reasonable wait, he began with a "hey". Once he gained the man's attention he continued, "I don't know your name." The Syrian began talking in his own tongue, reminding Ezio of their language barrier. Okay, gestures it is. "I," he gestured at himself "am Ezio. You..?" He pointed at the Syrian, with hopes that the other will understand. To his surprise the Syrian caught up with his question and mouthed one word

"Altair".

The Italian smiled. "Okay, that's a very funny joke. We'll start again, nice and clear, alright?" he explained to the man before him. Receiving only a confused look from the other one, he tried one more time. "Okay. I am Ezio" he pointed at himself. "And you are..?" he extended his hand towards the man, waiting for an answer. "Altair", the Syrian repeated himself. Puzzled, Ezio asked again, "Altair?", and he received a nod from the other. How can this be? Was this some kind of coincidence? It has to be. But... how many Altairs could live in Syria? Not to mention the hidden blade, and infamous hood. So that's why his attire seemed odd. It wasn't from this century! Suddenly his eyes widened, and now he _really_ looked into the man before him. Meeting the golden eyes of the master assassin before him Ezio was staring agape. Nothing made sense to him anymore. "I… need to go" the words were rushed and incomprehensible, but that didn't matter. Before the stranger (Altair) could react in any way, Ezio stormed out, needing to organize his thoughts in a logical order.

Before entering the next day, Ezio hesitated. During a sleepless night he almost got over the fact that his ancestor from the distant past was on the other side of this door. He finally came to a conclusion, that the less he knew the better it would be. God knows why or how Altair appeared here, but he really hoped the other one knew the answers to these questions. But what should he do now? They still didn't communicate well, and from this point forward it will be even more uneasy. The thought that he was thinking about Altair in a not so descent way, was the pinnacle of his troubles. Building up his courage he knocked three times politely, signaling his presence to the person inside the room. His steps were undetermined, in contrast to the day before. Then again, yesterday he wasn't aware of who his patient really was. And now, knowing it was the legendary assassin, he was hesitant and cautious. Who knows what was running through the other's mind.

"Good morning," he tried to sound cheerfully, still avoiding looking into Altair directly. "Brought you some breakfast," he lifted the tray, and it was the only signal Altair needed to begin sitting up weakly, already unconsciously licking his lips, when the smells invaded his nose. Raising his eyes to look at the man Ezio grinned at the sight of how human Altair truly looked. Not at all like those stories about the ruthless Syrian assassin who killed without a second thought. Always calculating, always knowing what he's doing. And now, chewing on a piece of ham, while holding a lump of bread in the other _four fingered_ hand, he seemed like an ordinary man. Maybe it was his camouflage, maybe his true face. Who knows?

Ezio sat cross armed on the chair beside him during all his munching and chewing. He observed the man, trying to solve him like a puzzle. His musings were interrupted when Altair handed him back the empty tray. Well, not only the man was a sleepyhead, but he also had an appetite. Putting the tray aside, he proceeded for his daily check on the man's injuries. First he cleaned the cuts and small wounds that seemed to be healing very nicely. Then he undressed the bandage on Altair's waist. Although the man made sounds of protest they were quieter than the day before. The gash was still nasty, but at least there seemed no kind of infection that could make matters worse. The Italian knew that broken ribs will take more time to heal than this ugly injury, and he wondered why it made him feel a little bit happier. Returning to his task, Ezio applied the medicine around the wound, making sure to cause as little pain as possible. Taking fresh bandages he bound him again. "Well, you should live" he announced teasingly, raising from the bed to place bottles and used bandages on the table nearby.

Altair was telling him something. First he began slowly, shyly almost. Then noticing no change in Ezio's expression he talked louder and faster. Ezio could see that he was trying to make himself understood. However no matter what he did, Arabic still seemed alien to him. It was the whole different type of language, and it had no familiarity with Italian. Still, he had to admit that the language suited Altair. The strictness in his voice matched the image of a cold blooded assassin. "I have no idea what you are blabbering about," he waved his hand, trying to send the message through. Altair stayed silent after that. He looked offended in some way; however you could never be absolutely sure with a person like him.

Preparing to head off for the day he could see that the Syrian assassin was bored to death. No wonder; sitting between these walls for so many days could drive anyone mad. "Oh! I almost forgot!" Ezio pulled a book from his inner pocket and threw it to Altair. "I know you would not understand anything in Italian, so I picked a book with pictures in it." He grinned like a cat, when Altair picked the offered book and turned the pages quickly. Before Ezio had closed the door he could see the disapproval on Altair's face. Oh, he enjoyed this too much.

Ezio's nursing lasted for about two weeks. Every day seemed the same. Each morning he would bring breakfast to Altair, feed him the medicine, inspect the wounds and would disappear for the rest of a day. Then the evening would follow, and the Italian would once again carry out his procedures concerning the Syrian's injuries, while also providing him with supper. As the days went by he spent more and more time with Altair, trying to make a connection of some sort in addition to pulling some information.

Ezio was still concealing the master assassin from his family. Mainly because he did not know how to tell his mother and sister that the legendary assassin from more than two centuries ago was laying in one of the Monteriggioni's houses healing his broken ribs. The idea sounded so preposterous that even Ezio find it hard to believe, let alone his relatives. And so he was left alone with this burden of an assassin. Each day he was attending to the injured Syrian and each day he was feeling more affectionate towards the said man.

As the second week went by their conversations seemed less awkward. They seemed to forget that their languages were different, and so one talked in Italian, the other in Arabic. The quality of their dialogues seemed not to be affected by this fact. It appeared that both men understood what the other was saying, or at least grasped the concept of what was being said. Even those embarrassing journeys to the restroom seemed more tolerable. Altair was recovering pretty fast, and as far as Ezio could see, he will be healed in no time. Much to Ezio's disappointment the Syrian could take care of the wounds by himself now, which basically meant the Italian's presence was no longer required. However, he couldn't help himself and even though there was a lot to do around Monteriggioni he always found a spare moment to visit Altair.

"Good day, Altair," Ezio merrily greeted the other man as he entered without knocking first. He received a response in Arabic, the language which was still a mystery to him, though he could understand his name being said. Ah, it was strange to hear his name in such a rich eastern accent, nevertheless it was captivating, and Ezio could sell his soul to the devil to hear his name said like that in a different kind of context. Altair was sitting up, sending a questioning sentence towards the Italian; probably asking about the purpose of this sudden visit. "I've got something for you," and before the master assassin could raise an eyebrow or express himself in any other way, he pulled out a shiny short-blade. The blade was curved and decorated with intricate feather engravings and the grip was quite simple yet comfortable. Handing over the weapon to Altair he noticed, how the Syrian couldn't avert his eyes from the blade. He caressed it like a lover, slowly tracing his fingers along the decoration, admiring every little detail of this knife. Turning the weapon in his hands he seemed to marvel at how it glistened before the sunlight. The intimacy between this deadly weapon and Altair suggested Ezio that he hit the nail on the head with this kind of present to the master assassin.

Glad that his gift was appreciated, the Italian prepared to leave Altair alone with his blade, when suddenly that beguiling voice hooked him. "Ezio". The man stopped dead in his tracks, facing the source of this voice. Their eyes connected and Ezio caught the intensity of Altair's gaze. He stood still, neither of them daring to speak. Finally coming to senses, the Italian broke the eye contact and sniggered lightly, trying to ease the atmosphere, "Is there something wrong?" he inquired turning his palm up and raising it a bit, signaling the question. Nonetheless, Altair just kept staring at him, making Ezio nervous and uncomfortable. After a short while the Syrian beckoned him to come, his dark voice washing over Ezio. Feeling entranced, he could not help but to comply. Still chuckling, as if that would defend him from Altair's seriousness and unintentional seductiveness, he approached the bedside.

"What is it?" Ezio purred and was instantly taken aback by the sound of his own voice. Clearing his throat he repeated more formally, "What is it?" The Italian could feel his face turning hotter, and his heart beating twice as fast as it should. He had to leave, and fast. The man could not bear to stand so close to the master assassin. He was too inviting, laying there half bare, looking at him with such expression plastered on his face. He mentally shook his head. No. What would the other think about him? His object of desire was off limits and Ezio knew that too well. If Altair had to say something, he'd better hurry, or else Ezio will storm out without a second glance.

At the same time he felt his armed grasped. Long fingers weaved around his wrist squeezing lightly. With a sudden pull their faces were so close, Ezio could hear the Syrian's breathing and see his lips moving. Altair mumbled something in Arabic, but Ezio could neither comprehend nor figure out the concept of those words. It seemed they mattered to Altair alone. "You have no idea, what you are doing to me," the Italian sad sadly, pulling away from the man's clutch. Oblivious to Ezio's words, the injured assassin let him go. Free at last, the Italian turned on his heel and rushed from the room, slamming the doors without an intention of doing so.

Since that day Ezio tried to avoid Altair as much as he could. He barely talked to the other, never looked him in the eye, and when the Syrian finished eating he disappeared momentarily. It was painful for Ezio. Although Altair tried to make him speak, he refused any kind of conversation; afraid he might lose control and bring the Syrian's wrath upon himself for his inappropriate actions. Their strange friendship would be ruined. The assassin knew he was a sinner, and Altair was his biggest sin. It astonished Ezio how this dangerous and cold man could stir such immoral feelings inside him, not to mention in such a short time. The Italian felt masochistic, yet he could not help it.

Third week was coming to an end, and Altair was getting better and better. His ribs were almost healed and he could even walk to the restroom by himself. Ezio sensed that their paths will soon part, and this thought bothered him a lot. Entering the Syrian's room second time that day (more out of want than necessity) he was greeted with an empty bed. "Where did he go now?" He stepped inside, scanning the small bedroom searching for some clues of the other's presence. The sound of shutting doors alerted him and before Ezio could turn around he was pulled into a warm embrace. Rigid arms snaked around the Italian and held him tight. Startled Ezio remained still trying to figure out what the hell was going on. "Let me go, Altair", he tried to sound reasonable and made an attempt to escape his capturer's grasp. When the master assassin loosened his hold the Italian felt both saddened and relieved. "Thank you. Now, what this was abou-" a sudden collision of their lips wiped away Ezio's words.

It took a moment for Ezio to understand what was happening. Blinking few times he saw Altair's lidded eyes with those long eyelashes close to his own. Right now he was passionately kissed by his object of desire. What is more, it wasn't _he_ who did the first step. Without further ado, the Italian responded to this kiss, making sure it was memorable. With a new force their noses brushed, teeth clashed and tongues fought. This caress was revealing the fervid feeling that the words could not deliver. After tasting everything the Syrian had to offer Ezio was more than willing to enter the next stage of their act. Sinking hands into Altair's hair, his lips slid down biting and nibbling soft flesh of the man's neck. With each touch he was sure to thrust his hips, receiving unearthly sounds from the master assassin's lips. Altair leaned into the wall to support himself all the while digging his fingers into Ezio's back, sometimes managing to whisper Italian's name. Ezio could sense that the Syrian was yearning for more. Satisfied he proceeded traveling further. His hands crawled across the man's chest, still sliding down. When the Italian began fondling the other's nether regions, Altair's mouth opened instantly helping pleasant noises to escape his throat.

Reciprocating his actions, the Syrian laid Ezio on a soft bed, tearing his garments with shaky hands while still occupying the other's mouth. Anticipation and need was driving both assassins mad. Once Ezio was released from his clothing, his skin became very sensitive to the Syrian's touch. It burned everywhere the other placed his hands or lips and Ezio arched his back whenever the master assassin licked or bit his body. Without being able to take much longer he weaved his legs around Altair's torso, trying to urge the man to get this over with.

Their intimacy lasted a good while. Both were curious of the other's reactions, their mouths and hands exploring each other's bodies again and again. Their actions were heated and rushed, fire engulfing their bodies and souls. The air was thick and heavy with lust and desire that both assassins didn't have to deny. No words were necessary, none were spoken. Only from time to time their names would ring in the silence, marking the culmination of their love making. Decency was long forgotten, society ignored. They were both assassins, they knew the fragility of life. They knew better than anyone else that every day should be cherished as if it would be your last.

Finally, when their lust was satiated, they snugged under the thick blankets, bodies still entwined, relishing the new sensations. When Ezio was about to fall asleep, completely drained out of energy, he felt a pair of lips placed softly on his forehead. Ah Altair, who could have thought that this dangerous assassin could also possess a flame of passion. Smiling, Ezio leaned his head into the kiss, pulling the Syrian closer to himself and throwing his leg on top of Altair's, it was chilly after all. "Ezio," master assassin whispered to already dozing Italian. "Hmmm?". Brushing away soft locks from the sleeping assassin's face, Altair murmured "I thankful you." Pleasantly surprised by the Syrian's attempt to speak Italian, he responded with a smile.

"You're welcome."

* * *

**Hurp. Another oneshot. The idea came to me, when I tried to fall sleep. Hopefully someone will like it. :3**


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